Quest to the Southwest - Chapter One: Sticky Notes

Tucking the last box beside the red plastic ice chest, Martha wiped the dust from her hands on her thighs. Damn! She looked down at the dusty handprints on her new black jeans. Having spent the summer in sweat pants that were spattered with paint and old T-shirts, she had developed the habit of wiping her hands on her clothing. She slapped at the dusty handprints, causing her thighs to burn. She scowled down at her heavy thighs. Fat sure hurt more than muscle. Stop, she commanded herself. No more negative thoughts. Replace that thought. An image of an adventure from long ago filled her head. Yes, this was a good thought to use to chase away the negative thoughts. She had just graduated, eager to get a job, needing to move away from the life she was living. She had packed her camping gear and her dog into her VW bug and headed up the California coast, determined to find a new place to live. During the week long journey the gas shortage of 1979 had driven up the prices from thirty nine cents to nearly seventy five cents a gallon, leaving her stranded five hundred miles away from home without enough money to buy gas for the return trip. Using her low limit credit card , charging gas and trying not to think about what she would do when the bill came, she limped on home.

Damn. This was supposed to be a positive thought.

Everything fit in the Honda. Camp stove, boxes of books and binders, ice chest, chair, umbrella, coffee pot, fry pan, and electronics - tons of electronics. Couldn't function without camera, video, Kindle, IPOD, laptop, printer, and of course, her CPAP machine. She had constructed a bed by removing the passenger headrest and tipping the seat all the way back. She liked the way it flattened, matching up with the back seat. It was great that she was only five foot four, because if she had been even one inch taller it was doubtful she would be comfortable in this little bed. A tiny concern flittered in the back of her mind, concern about dealing with her sleep apnea when camping. The CPAP required electricity, which wasn't available in several of the stops on her journey. She would be alone so her loud snores wouldn't disturb anyone. Maybe the snorting and groaning she did while she slept would scare away any night time monsters.

Martha rubbed the back of her neck and stretched her arms. She was sleepy already. Last night had been another of those jaw clenching, wild dream, restless nights. Probably the anticipation of the trip. It had been two months of planning, going over every detail in her mind day and night. Hours on the internet researching places to go, things to see, the best campgrounds, hotels near those spots with scary or isolated campgrounds. Then looking for sources of wireless access on the road. How had she lived before the internet? Automatic bill pay, email, research, and, of course, Facebook. Some of her relatives would be disgusted that her route was dependent on internet access, but her friends knew exactly how she felt. Most of them had newer phones, and they could access internet from everywhere, sending posts while waiting in emergency rooms, sitting in boring meetings, stuck in traffic jams, probably seated on toilets. Even as connected as her friends were, her children were ten times more connected, walking and texting every moment. At least she only logged in once or twice a day. The southwest sure wasn't like California, it didn't seem there were as many places you could get free wireless. When she Googled Starbucks, there were a few scattered here and there throughout the states, but only in about every third or fourth town. So different from her hometown, which even though quite small, boasted three Starbucks. She had searched for smaller coffee houses, libraries or other spots she might be able to log on. The town she would be living in for three weeks had a library. Further investigation proved frustrating. The library did not have a web site, just a phone number. This fact alone gave her serious doubt that they might have free internet access.

Martha turned and picked up the pad of yellow stickies and pen she had set on the shelf of the garage. Just a few more things had to fit in the tightly packed car. There was still some room on the floor behind the driver's seat, and the additional items that had come to mind while she carefully placed everything into the car should be able to fit there. When she finished writing she set the pad back down, and turning back to the car, opened the rear hatch, lifting the first box out and setting it to one side. As she unpacked the car, stacking the empty boxes neatly against the wall of the garage, returning the ice chest to the spot beside the stacked paint cans, she ticked off items in the mental list she always carried in her brain. She pictured this list as a sticky note behind and slightly above her eyes, pressed against the back of her frontal lobe. There was still a lot to do in the two weeks before she left, but not enough to keep her mind busy. She definitely needed a distraction. She had slipped into her maximum over planning mode. Researching every detail twice, practicing packing the car, pacing around the house unable to focus on any thing at all.

"I think I'll leave on October fifth, you know, instead of the sixth. I want to add a stop in Bryce Canyon, and I think if I do that I won't be rushed."

"Hmm." Glen was non-committal when she delivered this news last night over dinner.

Outwardly he appeared completely supportive of the six week trip, but Martha had her doubts. Maybe she had doubts because she wanted him to miss her, wanted him to be somewhat crushed and devastated that she would leave for so long. She flopped back and forth, like a wind chime in an erratic wind storm. One minute she made statements which were meant to reassure him that this journey was not to escape him or their life, the next moment she was angry and hostile, letting him know she was reconsidering everything in her life that made her unhappy. She was not satisfied that he didn't try to talk her out of going or that he didn't seem excited about her adventure. Just what did he feel anyway? For that matter, just what did she want?

Martha walked up the long driveway to the mailbox. Heading back to the house, she flipped through the envelopes and magazines, straining to read, she had left her glasses in the garage. Here, what was this? A glossy brochure from Mills College. For Women, Again and Again, the label read. As she got back to the garage, she stopped and opened it. Her thirtieth class reunion, just three days before her target departure date. Grabbing her glasses off the shelf in the garage, she went back into the house to read the announcement. Lots of activities planned for the weekend, including some very exciting things, drumming, a writer's group, a concert of alternative music.

This could be just the distraction she was looking for.

Question for readers: What adventures have you had in your life? What went in to making the decision to make a change or venture out to a place you had never been before?

I welcome all comments.